


Afflicted

by Stanglass



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Curses, Family, Fantasy, Freeform, Gay, Hurt/Comfort, LGBTQ Themes, Lies, Loss, Love, M/M, Magic, Medieval, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Originally Posted Elsewhere, Pining, Romance, Royalty, Secrets, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Tragedy, Trauma, War, prince - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:22:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23982274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stanglass/pseuds/Stanglass
Summary: The land of Sanitatum is said to be filled with magic and wonder, but it is also plagued by a contagious magical curse that threatens humanity's survival. It is the purpose of the heir to the throne, Simba Adofo, to inherit his father's crown and find a way to vanquish the curse he hates for corrupting his land.However, when he finds himself caught in a web of lies to prevent his succession, he must team up with a cursed boy named Hari to unravel his kingdom's insidious past to reclaim his crown and cure the curse once and for all.__________________________________________With regards to friendship, family, love, and expectations, Afflicted offers a commentary on the shortcomings of reality, as well as my own anxieties about life through the lens of a fantasy world. I hope that by its completion it touches all who read it.
Relationships: Hari Columbine/Simba Adofo
Kudos: 12





	1. The Invasion

**Author's Note:**

> I have drawn a chapter cover for each chapter, so please enjoy them as you read. 
> 
> Thank you for choosing Afflicted!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The War is won, but the young new King of the realm, Kasim Adofo, must make some hard decisions regarding his new position as he deals with the loss of his dear wife, Faria. The past rulers of the realm, the cursed Columbine family, seem to have an ace up their sleeve with a missing heir that sends the Adofo's grasp on the newly conquered realm into jeopardy.

The two were quiet. They knelt beside each other, faces down and hands tied behind their backs. They both trembled knowing what was going to happen to them. Despite knowing for a week or so about how their lives would end, it didn't make this any easier. King Kasim Adofo, the newly crowned ruler of the realm, stood before them. His eyes were angry, and his fist clenched tight around his sword. The Columbine King and Queen knelt in silence waiting for their sentence.

"These are them?" Kasim snarled. His father was behind him, looking down at the former rulers of the castle their forces successfully took over. The realm was Kasim's now. The Columbine's forces were the last in his way. Their tyranny was over. Now it was time to punish them for what they had done. The Adofo family's forces had taken the most powerful kingdom of the realm of Sanitarium. The Columbine forces were defeated. It had taken ten years, but the War was finally over. Kasim remembered what he had lost to be standing here. He wondered if it was all worth it.

"Yes. It is them," his father said coldly. Davu Adofo knew his son well enough to know he was hurting to the point of weakness. The new realm needed the Columbine Royals who knelt on the floor to die. Their death will fuel unity and conformity, and let their people know the Columbine's plans died with them. For now, they just needed compliance and the loss of hope in their followers whom he knew loved the Columbine Prince to pieces.

That hopelessness was instrumental in the Adofo's goal. Cunning and simple tactics by the Columbine family were enough to make the Adofo's mission to rule the realm harder than Davu would like to admit. But as long as the heir dies, the people's love for him would too. All they needed to do was find him.

Kasim stood eerily still, frozen in rage. Knights lined up behind the couple, ready to do whatever the King said with the defeated pair.

"You know the crimes you are charged with," he said quietly, barely audible through gritted teeth. "You are going to die whether I kill you or the fire does. Now tell me. Where is he?"

The two were silent. The two were proud, Kasim knew. They wouldn't be so foolish as to let their plans unravel under fear of death. They had already planned on as much. They could fear it, but they wouldn't back down now. Though their plans had caused more harm than good, they were adamant to remain a problem.

They stood still, unflinching, determined to their silence. Kasim knew this would go nowhere, but the child was the key to their plan as far as he could tell. He had to at least try to smoke him out. Unfortunately, even if he tortured them, he wouldn't get the information he wanted. Even their forces were a mystery he knew he would never solve using coercion.

"Very well. But I will find him. Your pathetic 'cure' is no more. Your apathy to the threat has made the curse spread even faster than it would have. Half of your kingdom fell to the affliction and all you did was fiddle with books and magic to exacerbate a wound already large enough to destroy us all. Even with your son elsewhere and your commander missing, there is no way for you to win this battle. Its a lost cause both in theory and practice. You have to fight this problem at the source of the illness, not through the sorcery in which it was made. And don't expect me to spare your lives because of your little secrets. Faria didn't deserve to have her life taken by the likes of you."

He paused, huffing heavily as if it took all of his strength to stay on his feet. Faria's death was still fresh. He had lost her to their forces in the battle to claim this kingdom.

"Bring them to the stage."

The two were grabbed harshly by the two guards and dragged across the marble floor. They didn't kick or scream. Their faces were masked in a vague happiness knowing their son would live wherever they stashed him.

"Wait," Davu interjected, causing the guards to stop in their tracks. Now that Kasim acted, it was time to prepare a spectacle.

"Kasim, you have to let the people know the Columbine reign is over. A living heir would cause a hole in your rule for any of their supporters." Kasim knew that, but had no other options.

"The heir is gone. The Columbines sent him away. Unless we find him immediately, these two will have to be executed without him. We can justify not killing a child. We can say he's in prison." Kasim was a man of nothing but necessity. His father knew it was an element to his son he could use to manipulate him. Despite Kasim's apprehension of causing harm to a child now that he was a father himself, Davu was sure he could persuade him with the right motivation. Davu smiled a crooked smile.

"We don't need him yet," Davu said sternly. A soldier dragged a small boy from another room to his side. The boy was pushed to the ground, grunting in pain as his body slammed against the white floor. "But a look-alike will do the trick just fine."

"You know what you must do." Davu said coldly.

Kasim looked down on the child who now quietly whimpered. he froze in fear, stepping away from the child that trembled on the floor before him.

"There has to be another way," he rasped. "I can't burn an innocent child at the stake. Simba is around his age..."

Davu put his hand on his shoulder, knowing his son would listen to him if he reminded him why he has to do it.

"If you don't, then you risk losing what your wife died for. You wouldn't want her death to go to waste, wouldn't you agree?" He walked away, leaving his son to face the child alone. "But the decision is yours to make. You are _King_ after all."

The crowd cheered as the former royal family was brought to the stage

The crowd cheered as the former royal family was brought to the stage. The couple was first, followed by the child meant to play their son. They were tied to wooden posts, around which dried wood was placed, set up to burn quickly. On each stake was a banner of the Columbine kingdom's emblem: a bird with wings spread holding a poppy in it's beak over a blue background.

"Simba should be here to witness this," Davu demanded quietly from the King's side. "He's going to be King one day. How can we expect him to lead if he cannot cheer as his kingdom's enemies burn?"

"He's been through enough. He needs to rest and grieve." Kasim's voice was stern. Davu knew when it came to Simba, it was a topic he would have to work hard to change his mind about. Kasim's compassion towards his son and wife got in the way of his true potential. Davu's tone grew more irritated. He wouldn't get anywhere now, but perhaps breaking him down overtime would work. Even a frog placed in a gradually heated pot overtime doesn't recognize its being boiled to death until its too late.

"Seeing his mother's murderers will bring him peace." Davu insisted.

"No. He is only a child. He doesn't need to see this yet." Kasim stepped forward as the family was tied to their posts. The crowd of his citizens cheered as he stood, chest puffed up to the sky, projecting his presence far beyond to the nosebleeds of the crowd. Their new Colosseum will be used mostly for live combat in the future, but doubled well for important executions. He heard the Columbine's had previously used it for theater and plays for their people, but it was merely a space he owned now. He could make it anything he chose.

He faced the family, and he found tears rolling down their faces. The two parents were as still as they were on the floor before him, but the child writhed against the pole he was tied to. A cloth was put in his mouth to avoid his inevitable screaming. Kasim looked at the boy, snot dripping down his face, a wet stain on his trousers.

"Do you have any last words?" he asked with a low voice, feeling the weight of what he was doing fall onto his chest like a brick. The Columbine King and Queen looked into his eyes, the fear in their faces suddenly gone.

_"The cure is in the future."_

They said it together, no hesitation or stammer. Kasim paused, knowing they had a plan still under their sleeves. Too bad it would falter once they perished. He turned his back to them to face his people and announce their sentencing with a booming voice.

"Today, we find the Columbine Royal Family to be guilty of treason. We find them guilty of using dark magic as the core of their research. We find them guilty of letting the curse grow, and harboring it themselves in their family. We also find them guilty of assassinating our fair Queen, Faria Adofo."

The crowd booed loudly, throwing various objects at the three criminals on the stage before them. They waved their fists in the air, hissed their names, cried for them to die.

"We sentence the family to be cleansed by holy fire, and pay for their deeds of treachery."

The crowd cheered as Kasim nodded to the guards holding lit torches in their hands to step forward. Kasim took his place again next to his father as the dry wood was lit underneath the feet of the accused. Kasim watched as a child as old as his own son was burned to death, the boy's screams feeling like a knife through his chest. He found it harder to breathe with each second the flames fed at his skin. He was lucky the cloth in the boy's mouth muffled his painful wails or he may have burst into tears himself. The stage burst orange, the fire easily engulfing them and their banners as it pulsed into the air, smoke spiraling to the empty sky above.

"We will never find the boy and the Commander. They were too smart to keep the boy anywhere we could find him, and that Commander with her tribe is out there plotting against us. How long do you expect this to last?" Kasim was flustered. As a new King in his mid-twenties, he was concerned one of the first deeds he did as ruler of the new realm was burn a child to death. He was supposed to protect his people, not deceive and murder them. Davu's voice in contrast was calm and collected.

"As long as we find the key to their disastrous 'cure' before it has a chance to spread, then we will have generations to keep our hold over the land. Until then, we must heighten patrols for the afflicted. We have to establish dominion over this place. We must extinguish loyalty of the past and usher in a new wave of power and order. But most importantly, this Kay Columbine must be located and dealt with".

Kasim listened with a low heart as the screams of agony slowly stopped one by one until the only thing left to listen to was the roar of the fire that ignited his rule.

The only solace this brought him was that his wife didn't die for nothing. Without the curse, his wife would still be alive and by his side. He would still have a whole family. He had to do everything to expunge the curse from the land, including killing the culprits that let it spread as if it was nothing. The 'cure' the Columbine royals presented their people was nothing but empty promises. If it was anything but a falsehood, maybe his wife would still be here.

He watched the fire rage on.

He would have to set many more to fix what the past rulers caused

Simba watched through the window of his new room. The interior was too polished for his liking. It was too bright, cold, and sterile. He enjoyed the light from the torches of his old room. He liked the fur pelt rugs that used to line almost every inch of the floor. Here he could not run barefoot without catching a fever. The child was far too young to know what was happening outside, or what had transpired for the last several years. All he knew was that his mother was gone. Simba knew only that the war was won. He supposed he should be happy, but it seemed to take away more than it gave.

He rested his chin in the trench of his crossed arms folded along the windowsill, looking as dozens of swirls of smoke from the fires bubbled to the sky. He was sad his mother was gone, but his father seemed even more upset. He loved his mother a lot- the fact that Kasim out-staged his grief boggled his mind especially considering how his father seemed so infallible and flawless. Having a weak spot for the woman he loved made Simba happy knowing that his father loved something so much. Sometimes his warrior poise made him seem as though he was made of cold stone like this castle.

Kasim entered the room quietly, closing the heavy golden plated door behind him.

"Remind me to get these doors changed to wood," he smiled as he boisterously pretended to struggle pushing it closed, but the boy kept looking down on the city without a word.

"Sorry," Kasim sighed. " I thought that would make you smile after so much sadness."

Simba moved over on the bench he sat on, and his father heaved down beside him. Simba nestled his small face into his arm.

"Father, what are they burning?" he asked quietly. Kasim paused, unsure if he should tell him the truth. He was only an eight year old child. He deserved to live in the best world possible that was free of fear and tragedy. But Kasim knew the world they were given was nothing but problems he would one day be faced with solving.

"They are burning the afflicted," he said just as quietly. "We can't let them run around and infect everyone. Do you remember what I told you the curse does?" Simba's grip on his arm got even tighter.

"Yes. If you're infected, it makes your brain fall apart. It twists your reasoning, and prevents you from having kids. It would end humanity as the birth rate reaches zero."

Kasim nodded. "That's right, my little warrior. It may be hard, but it has to be done. We have to protect our people." Simba paused for a moment.

"Mommy said that we should treat everyone like our own family, that everyone matters even if they are sick. Would you burn me at the stake, Daddy?"

Kasim fell silent, remembering the child he just sent to his death. There was churning in his stomach for a moment before he could answer. Simba could feel him tremble slightly.

"Of course I wouldn't. I love you son, but sometimes we must do what is right for everyone. The curse threatens everybody in the realm and the sooner we get rid of it, the sooner we can cure our land."

"What if I ever caught the curse?" Simba asked coldly, unsure of his father's priorities. Kasim squeezed him in a tight hug, tears rolling down his face.

"I will never let that happen, even if I have to die protecting you. You are my son, and I will love you no matter what. When you're older, you'll have to inherit this problem. I'll teach you everything you need to know to save our people." Simba paused, looking at the smoke again through the window.

"I miss mom." Simba buried his face in Kasim's chest. Kasim's cheeks flood with tears, eyes shut tight in pain. His wife and his son were the only things he cared more about than the crown on his head. He had to rid the world of the curse for Simba's future. When the Columbines took her from him, he lost part of himself. Despite what she did to him and his family, she was still the love of his life.

"I do too."


	2. Alive (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 10 years after the invasion of the Columbine Castle, the story introduces 22 y/o Hari; a boy who lives in a forest under mysterious circumstances. Hari mindlessly goes about his chores like he has for as long as he can remember without deviation.

The light flecked in through the open window gently in the form of illuminated pollen whispering in the breeze. Shadows of the trees' canopy cascaded down in a scattered manner as accustomed to the forest and honey light oozed through dark leaf outlines against the sky.

It was time to get up.

Hari stared upwards to the ceiling from his bed. It was rounded to a point by the ascension of a single layered row of irregular rocks and held together by a white plaster he could not identify despite his years of trying. Sighing, he took in the light of the new day; one in the same he has experienced again and again for the last ten years. The days were unchanging and safe for him, yet lackluster and dry. He would have to get up and live the day again. It was his purpose to stay here. At least his disease was contained.

He dragged himself out of his sheets and planted both feet on the wood floors of his bedroom, caked in golden light like a gentle sea that tickled his toes with warmth. These clothes he wore day in and day out were now ripped, torn, and faded from exposure overtime. Threads had burst off the hems and holes grew in the fabric at the knees. His drained blue shirt bore a faint shadow of a symbol that was once crisp and solid. It was unrecognizable now, and he couldn't remember what the shape was or what it meant.

He had this outfit since he arrived in the forest ten years ago (Nanna tailoring them to fit him as he grew up) yet he could not remember the image that was once on his shirt, or the once snow white of his trousers- but that was to be expected of the symptoms, of course. The fact he couldn't recall such simple details was because his brain was slowly dying. That was one of the reasons why he had left his black gloves on as he slept too. He never risked taking them off.

Descending the stairs one step at a time down in a spiral, he watched the ground slowly get closer through the small windows that lined the walls of his tower. Once he hit the ground of the forest outside, he would have to start his daily chores. They were tedious and boring, but they needed to be done. Hari sighed deeply, regretting to start the endless cycle over again. Same tower. Same forest. Same routine.

It was time for a bath.

He folded his clothes on a flat rock next to the waterfall to bathe in the spring -all but his gloves of course. The spring was an outlet in the forest lined with private trees and was his only access to fresh water. It was clean, it was reliable, and it was warm from the sun despite it's crystal clear nature. He let the water rush over his body, washing away the grime of the night.

Lapping at the pebbled shore, the water rippled out across the surface making the objects that fell beneath engage in a silly dance of rubber crystal. Cocked comfortably on the rocks to dry himself, he let the sun do most of the work. The outlet and waterfall was nice to be in. It made him forget about why he was trapped in the forest in first place.

A small bluebird dropped from the sky gently onto a rock next to him.Singing a happy tune under the gentle roar of the falls in front of him, Hari was the only adoring fan in an otherwise empty place. The bird was a daily visitor and Hari named him Darwin mostly because he wanted a friend, and the bird seemed to need one too. Grown accustomed to his new name, Darwin came back everyday over the past several years. Hari often spoke to him whenever he came around because he hadn't talked to anyone for many years. Darwin was the only friend Hari had.

The water flowed into the forest through the falls, and trickled out through the creek. He found the unchanging flow of the water in and out of the forest soothing, knowing the world was still unfolding outside the ring of pegs even if he couldn't experience it himself. The water was unchanging because it was sourced from outside the pegs. It wasn't controlled by them like he was. He sometimes found it sad how the water seemed to have more freedom than he did.

He gathered his second pair of identical clothes, clean from yesterday's routine, and pulled them over his body. He took his old and now dirty clothes and proceeded to the creek that ran from the spring down to the foot of his tower. He spotted the wagon -permanently parked at the base of his tower- and recalled that it once held many identical pairs of clothes that were eventually deemed too torn or dirty to be used and now function as rags that occupy various new niches like towels and cleaning utensils. He couldn't leave the forest, so being resourceful was key to his survival.

It was time for laundry.

He used a set of rocks to beat any stains from the garments under the rushing water, gentle and calculated strikes echoing through the trees. It was effective but wore down the fabric quite a bit over time. After his cleaning, the garments were set to dry on a clothesline in the sun. The warmth the sun bathed the forest in was unaffected by the disease the forest housed, and was one of the only reliable things left here.

It was time for gardening.

He started tending to the rows of small plants that grew in a uniform line across a patch of dirt. He gently poured water over them, but he knew it was in vain in the end. The plants didn't grow very big anymore, and it has become routine to not see them sprout at all. The sun was as great as it has always been, the water was as clear as the day he arrived, but they weren't the reason why the plants refused to grow.

Hari noticed the soil overtime had become frail and almost grey with malnutrition. He knew the plants wouldn't grow, but he wasted water in denial. Luckily the trees in the forest still grew apples and berries on frequent occasion, and his animal traps always caught an unlucky rabbit that had wandered into the ring. He wished the carrots would grow, though. He always liked it when Nanna served him soft carrots. They were his favorite vegetable, he recalled. He poured more water on them.

Leaving the creek, he passed the old animal pen made from the rickety fence that was now empty. It once held a horse named Mavis, which brought him and Nanna to the forest. Mavis once roamed peacefully within the pen, captured in time by the uneven mounds of dirt caused by his hooves that still have not receded even though years had past.

Hari remembered he wasn't allowed near Mavis when he was younger, but he was fascinated by him. From the sound of his nose to the swish of his tail, the mare was a lively part of the forest that went unparalleled by anything within the pegs. As such, Hari wanted to get closer, but it was against Nanna's rules.

Gloves shed, one night Hari escaped from the safety of his bed without waking Nanna to visit Mavis in his pen. The forest was lit in the mystical veil of moonlight that night. Mavis swayed in his pen and flicked his tail to the entertainment of the spectating child, the hairs illuminating in a wild flash against the dark backdrop of the under bush. Hari made the mistake of squeezing through the horizontal bars of the fence.

Beckoning the gentle animal with his bare hand out to his head, the boy was received with a brush of his cheek as his fingers ran through the coarse hair. Mavis' eyes fluttered open and shut, escaping noises out his nostrils which caused the child to smile.

But the smile was short lived, as the familiar creek of the tower door on its' hinges ripped through the quiet forest air followed by the frantic screaming of Nanna, demanding he step away from Mavis in a panicked and horrified yelp. Hari was confused, that was until she grabbed the ax that leaned against a tree.

Nanna hopped the fence, pushing Hari behind her with her gloved and unarmed hand. The gleam of the weapon in her other hand caught the low glow of the moon between the treetops.

Mavis had collapsed after a few swings that connected with the docile beast. Hari remembered the animal's screams the most through the years. The damp grass flickered violently in the light and buzzed with Nanna's hectic shadows cast about the forest. She hunched again and again over the animal, the moans of pain bouncing from trunk to trunk. Then there was silence, a palpable blankness that froze the world in time. The outline of Nanna in the moonlight over the animal's mangled body was all Hari could make out, her shoulders slowly heaving from exhaustion. She turned to the teary eyed child, quiet and angry.

**_"Why weren't you wearing your gloves?" ****_**

It was then that he learned that animals too could catch his illness. It was a good thing Darwin never made contact with his skin. He tried to avoid the pen ever since that night. Passing it now made him adjust his gloves.

It was time to finish his chores.

The rest of the day was spent maintaining the tower, the grounds, the traps, and other things that needed tending to. This included maintaining and cleaning the tower. The tower itself was small, barely breaking the tree canopy with the tip of the red shingled roof. The stone wall was flecked with holes from rocks that had been chipped off from the beating of time over old stone. Any dislodged rocks were used to build a small fire pit to cook foods, particularly rabbit when he was fortunate enough to find one in a snare. These small things all needed doing everyday, so Hari filled his days with menial tasks to distract himself from his boring and dead home.

The forest itself was alive, but only by the grace and mercy of the sunlight and water that passed from beyond the forests' reach. The sun granted the tower floor, the trees, and the water with light and warmth. The water ran clean and smoothly unaltered due to its never changing and ever flowing route in through the spring, and out through the creek. These two things remained unaltered by what afflicted the forest.

The sun began to fall in the sky. Warmth began to fade and the air retained a crisp and chilly quality.

It was time to watch the sunset.

He made his way to the pegs at the edge of the forest, part of the routine he has occupied mindlessly for as long as he remembered. But it was part of the illusion of function; of life that distracted him.

He liked to pretend he lived in a nicer tower in a beautiful windswept meadow with pastel soft flowers littered about his feet. But he was stuck in this cursed and dying forest; the trees slumped slowly from being exposed to his touch, the soil had grown grey with malnutrition, the grass retreated from his every step, the sun and water the only things he couldn't have slowly ruined overtime due to the gift of intense separation. Sadly, where he knew he belonged was here in this ugly tower in these ugly woods. After all, he afflicted these trees himself. He afflicted his clothes, he afflicted these plants. He would have made the meadow ugly too.

At the ring of pegs, he stood just inside the invisible wall the wooden pegs formed. Hari stretched out his hand, as if to press his hands against firm construction. Pausing his fingers before they passed the wooden pegs, he still couldn't cross the threshold no matter how much he longed to.

They were simply wooden stakes driven into the ground around the perimeter of the forest, but held a magical barrier that kept him here that he couldn't see. Worn from the elements, the wings that were carved at the top of each peg reminded him they were just wood, crafted by someone years ago, placed there as a function and a form. He recalled though that the pegs didn't seem particularly magical. He guessed appearances were deceiving.

But these wooden stakes weren't just wood, Hari knew. Nanna had said she had endued the pegs with a magical barrier to contain his disease, using the last of her magic to keep him safe. Nanna said as long as the source of the infection doesn't break the barrier, the world was protected from his blight. So he couldn't cross the threshold no matter how much he longed to leave. As the source, It was his purpose to stay inside the ring of pegs and prevent the disease from spreading. She said they were there to protect him because "birds fear lions", whatever that meant.

He sat at the edge of the forest, sitting on a small overgrown log soft from the moss that overtook it's bark. The countryside was blank with rolling hills of grass, empty and silent as it flowed past the horizon. He sat to watch the sun go down past the sky after the day was over, a ritual he and Nanna established back when they first arrived here; the earliest memories he seemed to have in his mind anymore as the disease took a stronger grasp around his mind.

He looked down at the cross beside him. The overturned dirt that was once placed before it was now a flat bed of grass with a weed growing at the base of the wooden place marker. Nanna was still here to watch the sun leave the sky- that's what he told himself anyway. She left one day when going out for supplies and never returned, and he assumed she died. Hari didn't cry when she didn't come back. He buried her things as a replacement of a body. Her belongings were the only spirit she left behind other than the pegs.

Endless, the pegs formed a border between him and the world. They were meaningless to an outsider if they were to stumble upon them, but an impregnable wall when presented from the forest line. Locked in the cursed grounds, he was slowly dying and losing his mind.

Routine was life for Hari, and the reality was his routine kept him here standing tall like the tower despite the gradual chipping. He was grounded, a bird without wings. He tightened his gloves, compulsively making sure they hadn't slipped off of his fingers somehow. But the reason why he was grounded here anyway was the same reason the forest was dying:

**_He was cursed._ **

As long as he remained here, he was doing what he needed to do to be alive, and containing it from spreading in order to keep the world alive too. He was told that the curse was transferred by a touch of his skin, infecting the minds of anything he touched. Nanna made him wear gloves to prevent accidentally contaminating anyone.

The curse alters your soul, warps your idea of right and wrong. You lose your humanity. She said once you turn a certain age, you're lost to it. He was just waiting out the days until he was overwhelmed by his disease. Nanna always told him the curse made him a monster. He knew that much as true. Nanna told him what he was, and what he would do if left to be free.

He knew the consequences if he left. The curse would spread. The land would fall to the same devastation as the forest; drained of all life slowly until there was nothing left. He had to stay here, he had to stick to his routine, and he could never pass the ring. It was his purpose as a diseased beast.

The pegs cast long shadows as the sun fell behind them, caging the forest in long prison bars along the tree line. He saw a trail in the road in the countryside, slowly leading up to the foot of the forest. He imagined when he and Nanna arrived here on horseback, they would have come up that winding trail, determined and tired from the ride from wherever they came from. He imagined because he could no longer remember the day he arrived. The curse had stolen that memory from him.

All he knew was that this was where he belonged, and even his own memory couldn't change that, for he couldn't remember anything before his arrival to the forest. He was so young, and Nanna told him he didn't need to know- that he is better off forgetting, so he did. He didn't want to remember anyway, and the curse made it slip from his mind anyhow.

As the sun's last light vanished behind the hills, the last spark of day washed away with a dark blue blanket and white stars. A cold tear fell down his cheek. Just as routine was life, he often fantasize about the day his routine would finally stop. The world would be saved, the land would reclaim its former glory, and he would be freed from the ring and the heaviness of the forest.

But Nanna cared for him despite his abhorrent falterings, pushing aside her hatred for what he was and giving the last years of her life in keeping him safe. He wouldn't waste the life he took, the life spent trying to save a nonredeemable child. It was his purpose, after all. He couldn't go against the only thing he knew was right no matter how much he wanted to.

 _"Don't worry, Nanna,"_ he whispered with furrowed brows, looking out into the darkened fields.

 _"I won't leave. I'll stay alive._ "


	3. Alive (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story introduces Simba Adofo, Prince of Sanitatum, as he arrives in the throne room for his coronation on his 18th birthday. He anxiously awaits his new title as King to be granted to him ten years after the siege of the Columbine Kingdom by his father, Kasim.

The throne room was bright with the golden light that beamed through the cathedral-esque windows that streaked up the castle walls in solid bars of honey. Flecks of dust filled the space and highlighted the height of the room that climbed above the whited floors. The glimmer of the helmets flashed as Simba walked poised with a straight back through the center of the two columns of armored soldiers, guiding him towards his destiny. They directed him forward towards the stairs that ascended to the throne, clad in a long and thin carpet of crimson, white, and gold; the colors of his family crest. It was finally time for his coronation. 

The realm was known as Sanitatum, governed from the Inner City claimed as the spoils of the War of Birds and Lions won ten years prior. His father had conquered the realm, and it was his purpose to build on his success and lead the realm into prosperity.

He wore his formal ceremonial dress today, wrapped in the finest felts the land could buy, soft to the touch. He felt the cape that trailed behind him tug on his shoulders as he thrust forward. He could feel the crowd shuffle, watching as heads bobbed over and between the shoulders of the guards to see their Prince march up the red steps towards the throne in which his father lounged. Repressing the natural urge his face had to show his excitement with a stern look forward, he looked past all the guards and the crowds that had gathered behind them to begin of his reign as King of the realm.

His eyes were met with stark juxtaposition of his father's warrior ornamentation fused with the regal simplicity of the flooding marble sea. Spotted in with the seamless and soft plane of glossy surfaces was died pelt rugs, wooden hall doors that replaced once golden plates, and iron welded torches that roared against the choir of timid features. It was a unison that demanded sophistication and power, the callus backbone of a roaring red lion housed in a flawless pale meadow of wild flowers. Admittedly, the charm of the past kingdom's seamless simplicity added a certain debonair he respected, but out staged the raw power of his family name with a relentless assault of delicacy.

The castle he lived in when he was young was lit only by torches and minimal windows, illuminating furniture made of only sturdy iron or wood in the harsh flicker of fire, decorated in beaded tapestries and edged on the side of cluttered. The former palace represented a more whole image of his culture, as it was bound by the memory of his mother, a warrior leader who died in the claiming of the Inner City they now rule over. It's almost as if her presence was not felt here. 

After his father won the War of Birds and Lions and his mother passed, Kasim's mourning made him apathetic. Redecorating the spoils of victory was the last thing on his mind. The castle of their enemies remained almost untouched from the time of their ruling. He recounted one of the first things he would do is redecorate the castle in a better portrayal of his unparalleled faculty and bring more of his mother into the kingdom.

At the top of the stairs, he directed his focus to his father, staged as the most powerful man in Sanitatem at the apex of the room. His armor glowed in the reaming streams of light, and his red and white formal attire seemed to glimmer with every thread. White radiated a warmth from his chest that held the crest of his kingdom; the lion head centered on crossed swords in a denunciation of anything but the Adofo name. 

The name held the reigns of the entire land, and had expanded into all the known territory ruled by another, the active extermination of inferior rulers was a mission of his father and his father before him. The family was a ruthless line of warriors, putting down their enemies and claiming the spoils of weaker monarchs. Feared, respected, and elevated to an icon of raw power and authority. It was the Adofo way to pass down the tradition and valor of the warrior authority on to their sons after the former King named a woman to wed at his coronation. Of course a bride he didn't know or have a chance to consent to seemed daunting, but a crown of endless power was worth warming up to the idea.

Next to his father Davu Adofo loomed like a shadow at his father's side, the former King looking down on Simba from his perch like a vulture. Davu was Simba's grandfather, and former King before Kasim. His long face had a scar stretching from his temple down to his chin in a famous storming of a rival kingdom, and was weary from age. Beyond the traditional wrinkles of an aging face stared a man with cold eyes. He always found his grandfather vindictive and cunning, but Davu was kept in check by Kasim's foot up his ass if he spoke out of position. That was before Faria's death, though. 

Simba knew Davu missed his ruling position, but despite once being a man in his physical prime, he now needs a cane to hobble about. Since Faria's passing, Kasim seemed more reliant on Davu to make decisions. Perhaps a heartbroken man needed someone to lean on. In any case, Simba thought that a man in decline and out of his prime cannot be trusted to rule the realm. Davu next to his father and the throne made Simba uneasy.

It felt so right to be before the throne. His heart raced in the awe of the marble throne itself; rising seamlessly from the white and stippled surface of the soft glass that formed the shape of the structure, softened and upholstered in red. He felt the power of the red resonate from the history of his family banner; the powerful iconic red shared by all Adofo men, women, and children, thrusting greatness onto each one of them. Taking a breath in, he anticipated the weight of his family line to satisfy the destiny he had always imagined for himself. It was time.

The King's crown caught the honey light in a series of flashes as Kasim heaved himself from his lounging position before the court. He stood tall, chest barred in a powerful stance that presented himself upwards, chin tilted slightly heaven bound to allow the light to illuminate his face. His face was broad, strong, and though domesticated into this white and tame room, roared and gave a breath of the wild derived from his warrior ancestry that would never be denied by the likes of soft marble. 

A mane of dark hair flowed in bold ropes down his back and over his shoulders, tamed only barely by the gleam of the crown that weighed down his locks. Chestnut skin beamed rich in the sunlight, holding the room in a bold and undeniable silhouette against the lighted and pale air of the room. Dark and heavy eyebrows hung low over his eyes, framing his glossy orbs with dark wrinkles formed under the pressure of the royal line. Clad in a more ornamental version of Simba's own formal dress to befit a warrior, the King looked stern and unfazed by the shedding of a long and righteous rule. He was steady and prepared, looking down on him with the unmoved stillness expected of a King.

Though he stood as a statue before him, there was a slight deformity in his eyes. They were empty, yet he could see regret seep through as he watched him look into his son's face. The light in Kasim's eyes had gone out last year, and lately Simba found it rare for him to even look in his direction with anything but an empty blankness masquerading as royal poise. He thought it was the weight of the crown back then that drained him, but his father's responsibility was his pride. Simba thought perhaps instead the dawning on the ten year anniversary of his mother's death had hardened him into a solemn depression. 

Unfeigned by his father's dignified stance, Simba stood at attention with feet together, heel to heel and arms tucked behind his back. He bowed his head in respect. His father took a slow and calculated breath into his lungs before he delivered the royal address.

"Subjects of the Kingdom of Sanitatum, today we honor the line of the Adofo family. You have gathered here today, the eighteenth birthday of my beloved and only son, Simba Adofo, to see him become a man of his people and fulfill his destiny. He will take the my crown and lead you all into prosperity. It is his purpose and his responsibility to lead you to a brighter future."

He paused for the cheers that roared from the ground below, lifting his hand after a while to have this celebration stop in an instant in anticipation for him to continue.

"Ever since our valiant victory in the War of Birds and Lions, we have showed the realm our ability to lead and fulfill our duty to expunge the wretched curse from our land. Crushing the diseased tyrants before us that took the life of my dear wife, I have made it my mission to cure my land of the curse that plagues us all. Though I have done my best, there is still much to do and many to cleanse. This legacy is the burden of the heir to hold on his shoulders, and do it with poise and valor as he looks over his people. I trust my son will have the strength to balance these responsibilities with the royal blood that flows through his veins."

His father's eyes softened for a brief moment, sparking in Simba's mind the way he used to smile when he was with Faria. But it quickly faded and his eyes darted sheepishly to the floor, an act that was very uncharacteristic of a King of the realm. Though no one else could have seen him do so from so far, Simba was concerned when he saw his father's hand shake slightly at his side, as if he was apprehensive or scared of what was going to happen next. 

It was in this part of the ceremony where Simba was instructed to kneel. He lowered himself to the floor gracefully as he could manage in his anticipation. He bowed his head, waiting for the ceremonial blade to touch his shoulders.

He waited but was only greeted by silence. He could only hear the hollow breaths of his father before him. Then finally, he heard the sword release from its' holder, and a strong flash in the honey light revealed how it dangled at his father's side. He looked up at his father as he spoke again.

"It is a tradition of our warrior ancestry to pass on the throne to the eldest son once they have grown to the age of eighteen and have wed a woman chosen by the current King. This is the way of the Adofo family, the blood that flows through the members of this royal line are destined for greatness, for valor, for victory. It is his destiny to be in my place with this most sacred and honored blood and a valiant and stoic woman to keep him strong, lead the country in a model example for his subjects. This is the reason you have all gathered here today; to witness the future lion of the kingdom take his crown and his wife to carve the path of excellency with a bold slash of his claws."

His father paused, his eyes were vacant again, but in a way Simba couldn't quite identify. His father rarely showed sadness, but it was showing now clear as day.

"However, the royal succession; the history of our name and blood, and the crowning of your beloved Prince must be postponed in lieu of a test of valiance, for a lion cub with no claws is not ready to lead his pride."

His tone changed. The proud bark of a father was washed away, as if his lungs were beginning to collapse.

Simba's jaw clenched at the statement that was unexpectedly coupled with an incriminating suggestion. A low murmur of the crowd rose up to meet his ears yet he just stared in wait at the royal red of the floor in which he knelt, the sword blade glistening in his peripheral vision. He waited for it to be pressed from shoulder to shoulder as it did for his family before him. It was the tradition for the blade, after touching the shoulders of the Prince, to cut the surface of his un-gloved hand to share blood of the King before him, anointing him in the formal validation to succeed his rule. The tradition follows being assigned a woman of proper lineage and status to wed, which seemed eclipsed by the promise of power. 

The sword remained stagnant despite his yearning for it to move. All the traditions of his ancestors before him were gone in the span of several seconds. Simba stared vacantly at the ground again, unable to process what to do instead as he waited for an explanation.

"Instead, your Prince must first prove to his father and his people that he holds the stability, strength, and the valor shared by all rulers in the past before he is to claim his rightful place on this throne and shed the blood of his ancestry."

Simba's breath grew more panicked and shallow, as if the air was getting thicker and harder to gather into his chest. The King continued his decree while Simba stared blankly at his feet.

"I have been informed of a Princess across the realm in need of a hero; a King in waiting. She is being kept behind a barrier, sustained by the darkness of a witch's magic, against her will. Upon hearing his news, I knew the perfect wife for my son would be one to work for, and one he could prove his right to wed because that is who he is. That is the Adofo way that describes the true nature of an Adofo King, more than the passive way of history could ever narrate. I ask the future King to rescue this damsel in distress to prove to me and his people he can be trusted. I'm sure he will do his family proud and his people more so. When you bring her home safe and sound, you will inherit the crown."

The sound of the scepter meeting its sheath was heard throughout the hall. Simba felt as if he had fallen down the stairs, the red on the floor only his blood as his lifeless limbs rested so heavily on the delicate marble expanse. The breath was taken away from him, the hollow feeling of his ribs only a cage for a restless bird flapping against bone bars.

"Rise, my son," the King bellowed in his stern and regal disposition. Simba rose shakily, the uneasy sway of his cape revealing his shock and uncertainty. Simba looked into his eyes and saw the same sadness from before that still lingered. The King hesitated before he rested his gloved hand on his son's shoulder, the only physical insistence of the irregularity of this event. The rest of his body didn't say as much as an impregnable force that resonated supreme command. Simba felt a cold sting from the his touch even through the layers of fabric that separated their skin.

"Don't let me down," he commanded, a breath of disdain to linger in his words. "Bring her back, and you'll get my crown".

Clothed in silence, he met the King in a nodded agreement, unable to find the air to speak. From behind his father, Davu stood still and silent. With all the strength he could muster, the Prince descended the crimson stairs. The room was commanded by an awkward silence as he drudged forward. Dark walls between the bright windows cast bold shadows across the path carved by the flashing metaled men in their two seamless rows. Insatiably blank kingdom subjects grew closer as he descended back to common ground. 

He stared straight ahead again, but not for the same stern demeanor accustomed of the royal family, but driven by the shameful insinuation of his lack of preparedness he possesses despite being trained for this position his entire life. He has been prepped with the most rigorous training, the most in depth knowledge of his kingdom, and hand sculpted by his father his entire life to be the greatest King his family line has ever had. It was his purpose- how could he not be prepared for the only thing he was meant to be?

He felt like his eyes were lying, and he couldn't trust looking at anything but the double doors that waited for him at the end of the red guide line. His vision tunneled to see the bars of light and shadow from the windows stretch and run wild across the floor, his mind laughing at the divine joke the permanence of the honey light seemed to grant the whole event- the daylight being the only thing he wanted to remember from this day. He didn't even feel alive. 

Hopefully the Princess would be when he got to her.


	4. Under the Colorful Air (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hari writes a new entry into his journal to share his thoughts he knows are tainted by his affliction. Simba readies himself to storm the forest on his quest to rescue the princess waiting for him.

His routine cycled again with a new day. 

Hari watched the steady sun beams slowly push through the cracks of foliage and then suddenly flush more vivid and colorful just as the sun fell from the sky. The night came, and he was left in darkness again, which signaled the end of his routine. It was a somewhat soothing cycle and he hated that he was comforted by this kind of predictability. But there was one part of his routine he figured he would never hate. 

Nestled next to a bookshelf that held only one book on its top shelf was an old desk in which he had to repair himself many times. The wood was clearly aged a dirty brown, covered in scratches and nicks that ran against the lines of the wood grain, nails sticking every which way at the joints of the legs and the underside. In any case of it's condition, it was one of his favorite parts of the forest. 

He gently grabbed the only book from the shelf and began writing in his log. A sense of sanity was bound to these pages. The only outlet he was allowed to indulge in was with the ink of a pen and the space that lie between the two covers. He started it when he first came to the forest and he imagined he would have gone crazy without it. Being alone for so long was mentally exhausting. Writing out his day felt like a conversation in a twisted and almost completely uncorrelated way, but it was comforting. 

He dipped the quill into the ink bottle and pressed the tip to the yellowed page. He recalled that this was the last bottle of ink from the wagon supply from years ago. The fact that he soon could no longer write was shoved to the back of his mind as he started writing.

_June 11th, 1611._

_Today I did all I was supposed to do. The crops are watered, though they refuse to grow. The laundry is done, though they don't look any cleaner, and my room is dusted, although it will just collect again tomorrow. I ended the day watching the sunset with Nanna by the ring. Another day I lived, if this can be called "living". Despite my objections, this is my place. I'm not completely alone. Darwin visits me by the spring. I think he's lonely too._

He recounted his other log entries in his book. When he settled in the forest, he found the empty book lodged between the wall and the bedpost. It was empty and waiting for his input. He kept it hidden from Nanna as she would have been fearful of his monstrous ideas being recorded. She said any evidence of him would be punished. Put against her doctrine, he wanted to exist back then and did everything he could to leave a mark on this world different from his affliction. If someone came to this place after his routine has come to a stop, he wants them to know he was here, that he lived in this decrepit place. A concise term alluded him, but he wanted to be something to the effect of Mavis' foot prints in the pen. Mavis died, but he was still there with a mark left in the ground.

He read the passage from last week, a particularly exciting day on paper, taking up several pages more than usual. It was fun to re-live such an event when nothing happens for several days.

_June 4th, 1611._

_I had just finished my daily routine, fire dead, clothes hung up, and getting ready to sleep. I was brought to the window by a sudden noise outside. Shaken, I grabbed my frying pan in two hands and put my back to the w_ _all beside the window_ _, listening as voices fluttered up to my room, a light_ _from below_ _casting an orange glow to the inside roof through the open window_ _._ _I heard metal clanging against the sound of shuffling feet, horses making sporadic sounds through their nostrils, hooves scraping against stone. I peered past the frame to the ground below and saw three horses and three men gathered, whispering in vein as everything carries in the constant silence of the woods._

_Its the Crest!" one man said, flapping the deteriorated fabric that coiled itself around rusty rods._

_"That doesn't look like the crest to me. It's as ripped as my body." The man cackled at his own joke, while I found it boisterous._

_"Yes , but the wing remains here- see! Same color!" One man walked about with a lantern as the others stayed on their metaled steeds, examining the wreck of the wagon, then speedily to my hanging clothes. Their words bounced up to the window and their excitement at my clean clothes extracted a series of vibrant hollering despite their earlier attempt to be quiet. Something to the likes of "take it with you". The man snatched one of my only remaining shirts and scampered to his horse and trotted away. Something about losing a shirt made me angry, but their fascination with such a garment had me equally intrigued. To fixate on a picture long lost over the years from a wagon seemed to be trivial to me. Who knows what they needed it for, but they never returned, I assume they never will._

_It was only later that I panicked over a cursed item leaving the forest, reminded by Nanna's haunting words to accomplish the segregation of him and the world. Who knows what chaos the garment will bring into the world if anything, or who will try to find the source of such a disgrace- but I_ _know_ _that as long as the source doesn't pass the peg barrier, the curse is contained. I assume, however, if they wanted me they would have took me as they had the resources and force to overtake my frying pan. For now I'm just grateful they left._

Hari closed to the book, felt the smooth cover under his fingers. The candle light flickered softly against the large stone walls, casting shadows in the corners of the room. The pulse of the light made him calm and reminded him that his own heart kept beating, and that his routine would live to drag through another day, that he would write again tomorrow. After putting back his journal from whence he plucked it, he leaned against the windowsill with his elbows propping his body up, glancing down and remembering the scene that unfolded below that night. Darwin perched himself on the windowsill beside him, the only thing that has so far survived his wretched forest.

In the wind, the blue tapestry quivered over the broken ribs of the carriage. Like a carcass in the desert, dry bones protruded from the ground in which the vessel made it's last gasp for breath. He looked over his graveyard full of ghostly prints in the mud, bodies of utilities long forgot, sad excuses for plants, and Nanna's broken cross all covered in layers of rot and dust. This place held nothing for him, yet the chains that grappled the legs of each grave held his own ankles. It was his final resting place, and he was growing familiar with that fact his forest was gaining more victims. Everything that came into this place died, and he had no reason to think it wouldn't happen to him. But he was still breathing, unlike the ghosts that wander the forest below his small stone castle. Its like he had an army with him that he commanded, that he couldn't even see yet. So he'd live.

He took in a slow breath of the decayed air before turning back to the table. He took the book from the shelf in his hands again, feeling the fragile cover under his fingertips again. He turned to a new page, knowing a second entry was something he never did due to his limited supplies, but he knew it was important for whoever found such a relic to know such thoughts he had in his head. They needed to know he lived, like he already made apparent, but he also wanted whoever this book will meet upon his death to know how he _felt_.

He dipped the quill onto the page, and _felt_ as the bird looked on, illuminated by the moonlight and the captivation of a boy writing passionately into the night.

The sound of horse hooves were deafening as he Simba and his men rode down the trail, wedged at the trench where rolling hills met. Dust was stirred into the air , illuminated by the early sunlight. 

"What are your orders when we arrive to the forest, my Prince?" asked one of his men. His father sent a handful of some of his finest soldiers from his Inner Circle of government to help him save the Princess and escort her home. If there was truly magic involved, Simba would need all the help he could get.

"We don't know what to expect about her, her captors, or the forest. We will need to remain vigilant and alert. If this place is as guarded as my father suspects, we will need to be careful to not fall for any traps the witch has laid out for us." His squadron was part of his father's inner circle back at the castle. They were in charge of overlooking the kingdom, acting as part of its sturdy government. Simba was surprised his father gave him such high ranking members of the kingdom's elite, but it was an important and dangerous moment for everyone. He couldn't trust just anyone to aid in such a rescue mission. 

Though he was mad at his father for breaking tradition and having him complete a tedious mission to enunciate his leadership, he understood that once it was complete he would have a loving and devoted wife to wed, a kingdom who believes in him, and an even stronger claim to the throne based entirely on his actions. Though it seemed off still. He had thought of the possibility of his father setting him up to fail so he could keep his power, but Simba imagined his father wouldn't have put so much effort into building him up to rule over the years only to deny him the chance at the last minute. It didn't make sense, and his father was a logical man. Kasim was a man of necessity, Simba knew. It wasn't necessary to keep Simba off of the throne as far as he knew, so Kasim wouldn't try to do so.

The carriage he had brought with him was fit for a Princess. It was cushioned well, decorated in the most lavish of finishes, and even had windows to look out to the countryside as it rushes by. It was filled with food for her, as it had taken several days to travel here, and room for both of them to get to know her better on the way home. 

He blushed thinking of saving his future bride. He wondered what she would look like. He wondered what their first words would be, or whether she would fall in love with him at a glance. He felt butterflies in his stomach after wondering such things, but he also pondered whether it was that or the bumpy ride of the horse. Though this whole trip he spared even sleeping some nights to get here as quickly as possible, he didn't want to jeopardize his mission now, only an hour away from the projected location. When he was little he would always get sick if he rode a horse for too long, and he never grew out of it. He imagined vomiting in front of her after the rescue would be a bad first impression.

"I want to take a break for a bit," he said to the knight to his left, Nathair. "We are making great time. It wouldn't hurt to fill up our bellies before we fight a witch after all."

Next to a stream that flowed from elsewhere, they set up a small fire with logs to sit on. They cooked some soup with an old pan packed for the trip with some vegetables- he watched as it was made, never needing to make his own food. He was a royal after all. He had never learned to cook. Simba made sure they brought lots of carrots because it is his favorite to eat when it was in season. His stomach began to stop fluttering, but he was still excited about the rescue. Sitting on the log, his leg bounced up and down anxiously. Nathair, the general of the troop, looked over towards the nervous Simba.

"Big day today, huh?" he said pouring the soup into a cup for himself, and handing the second one to Simba. They both took a sip, Simba's leg still bouncing.

"Yeah, almost too big." He paused. "Do you think she'll like me?"

Nathair laughed.

"You mean will she like a handsome young Prince who rescued her from a magic barrier to take her home to live as a Queen? Yeah I think you're safe." He patted Simba's back. "You have nothing to worry about but the rescue. Your Princess will fall head over heels for you. I guarantee it." Simba smiled sheepishly, his leg stopped bouncing.

"I hope so. I just want her to be happy with me." Despite Simba seeing the Princess and the mission in general as a huge derailment to his life plans, she deserved to be happy and he wished to give her a good life. Despite their forced relationship, Simba didn't see how disrespecting her in any way could be helpful. Despite the rewards of this mission, the idea of her being handed to him like some kind of prize didn't sit comfortably. His concern was her consent. Would she want to marry him at all? What if she didn't? What then? The butterflies in his stomach started swarming.   
Nathair let out an amused huff from his lungs.

"Well if she knows how lucky she is to have you as a husband, then I know she will be." Simba let out a relieved sigh.

"Thank you." Simba said, sipping his soup again. "I needed that." 

Nathair smiled in reply. "Now, what's the plan to rescue her, future King?" 

Simba, now bolstered with confidence, said simply:

"Kick the witch's ass."


	5. Under the Colorful Air (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simba encounters the Princess in the forest, but something seems off about the details of his mission. He decides to try and coerce information from the Princess while he tries to gain her trust, flirting with her in the process.

Simba looked down at the little pegs in the ground, slanted every which way, eroded almost to rounded tips. He could hardly even tell they were supposed to resemble birds, but the beaks were still somewhat identifiable. Someone was definitely living here, which put a smile on his face.

Though these pegs were supposed to be a magical barrier made by a witch years ago, the reality was slightly underwhelming in Simba's personal opinion. He was briefed on the intelligence given by his father's men who patrolled the region. He was told that the witch kept the Princess in the forest with a magical hex on the pegs, keeping her inside the ring they made around the forest. The intelligence also claimed there could be magical creatures acting as guards. He wondered where this Princess hailed from and how she ended up under the witch's control. He wondered how those who shared of this place knew all of this information, but he had a schedule to keep and questioning sources would impede his goal. He had a kingdom to do proud and a mission to complete if he wanted to vanquish the curse. He had no reason to question the sources anyhow.

As for the scene before him, he had previously imagined an invisible wall of bricks as high as the clouds, or the forest being guarded by fire breathing dragons. Seeing a benign wall of leaves and rotten wood instead wasn't exactly the daring rescue he imagined. But he wasn't going to argue since it made his mission easier than he anticipated. Simba imagined the ornamental place holder on his head replaced with the heavy and authentic crown back in the throne room, his father finally passing the torch of his crown to him. He let out a big sigh. He was one step closer to reaching the purpose of his life.

Simba looked at the forest before him, standing at the line where the grassy plains met the barricade of trees. It was tall and fantastically magical. He couldn't imagine a person being trapped here- it was as if imagining a bird were trapped in the most comfortable nest in the land made of the finest material. But birds with clipped wings wouldn't be able to leave the nest, no matter how nice or horrible the nest was.

"The Princess must be further in," Nathair said as he readied his steed to go forward.

"The poor girl must have been trapped here for years," pointed his second in command. Simba looked into the forest, trunks of green piled into a wall before him.

"We walk from here," Simba declared, getting down from his metaled beast. "This is too unguarded. It must be a trap of some kind. Magic could be involved in her capture and we need to be prepared to counter."

The three men walked past the pegs with ease, shedding their steeds to explore the mass of trees by foot. There was a cross marking a once overturned plot of dirt, a yellow weed writhing at its base that made Simba's heart skip a beat. If she died, he could kiss the throne goodbye.

With a new sense of urgency, he followed the small path of dirt beaten down in the bed of green grass. It was clearly used often, which made Simba unsheathe his sword, but as he broke the greenery before him, he couldn't imagine he would need to use it here.   
It was a quiet place, filled with life and greenery. It seemed like a setting of a storybook his mother used to read to him when he was younger, and as he approached the break in trees to an open area, the fairy tale continued. A small tower broke the ceiling of leaves allowing the warm light of the morning sun to touch his skin.

Simba loosened his tense stance and looked up at the sparkling flecks of pollen that danced in the air above him, making the clearing at the center of the woods look as if it were the bottom of a pond, light pouring down from the ceiling where the sky touched the surface of the water. A decrepit yet sturdy tower of stone stood before them, clothes gently wafting in the breeze from a rope meant to act as a clothesline. To the right, leaning against the tower wall was a wagon, too broken to stand by itself. Rings of metal grew from its body like ribs from a deceased animal, surrounded by a skin of dirty blue cloth, ripped and worn, barely held together at all. The small fireplace was to the left, still filled with the ashes of burnt wood.

The Princess didn't seem very trapped, but more likely decided to live here on her own. There seemed to be nothing holding her here, nor did anything indicate she couldn't leave at any point. He wondered when the "rescue" portion of his assignment would commence.

Nathair left to investigate the tower. He returned moments later from the stone mass, shaking his head.

"She isn't in the tower," he barked quietly, a sense of annoyance rang through his metaled helmet. "She must be in the surrounding forest somewhere."

"Then we will split up and search," Simba commanded. "Put away your swords. I don't think she is a prisoner and we shouldn't scare her with weapons. Approach her with care and sensitivity. We can't afford to lose her." He couldn't jeopardize her loyalty. If he was going to wed her, she needs to understand that he's an ally from the second they meet eyes.

As the group dispersed, Simba slowly progressed past the fire pit smelling of fresh coals towards the left of the forest in which a twisting path pried apart the surrounding foliage to lead up an incline. Small flowers spotted the path, most likely missed from eyes looking straight forward and concerned only about routine and scheduling. Simba had to admit he was usually only concerned with the progression of his royal missions, but this forest soothed him as it slowly pried him away from his reason for entering to begin with. He loved the crunch of the natural ground below his feet. The absence of clean marble under his boots was a refreshing change of pace, and small branches came to greet him as he pushed forward.

This forest was a spell, a creation of wonder and beauty. But it concealed a secret wound in it's ancient roots he was determined to uncover. The story of the Princess made little sense to him, from the mission his father gave to him to the nature of the forest itself. Once he found her, he would have to extract information from her to piece together the puzzle he found himself within. 

But first, he would have to find her, and make sure she felt safe enough to share with him. If not otherwise, a rich and handsome Prince was sure to charm a lonely captive girl into anything he wished. Despite his wanting to impress her her, this feeling was rivaled aggressively by his concern with objectifying her as a mere trophy. These concerns were met again by his annoyance of the mission at all. Despite everything, it was a hoop he had to jump through to appease his father. He wanted it finished as soon as possible.

As he walked, he could hear the trickling of water and watched a thin stream flow down beside him towards the tower from whence he came. He had spent so little time out of the castle that he had forgotten how he loved the natural world around him as opposed to the marbled slab he called home. It reminded him of his childhood castle in the way the trees closed the space in, the stone tower walls, and of course the warm sensation the plants, the sun, and the water ran through his mind. It was the sensation of his mother he had missed for nearly a decade.

He crouched under a fallen tree trunk as he approached another clearing, filled with the sparkling mist of a waterfall. An aurora of colors projected from the mist, sprinkling the air with a spectrum of hues like a dissolved rainbow. The waterfall roared softly as it fell into the pooling lake, running away in the shallow stream that trickled softly behind him. Big leaves overtook the banks of the lake, and large stones lined the water's edge. It was a small oasis, sky left uncloaked by the treetops to spill in the orange light just as the water did the pond. Simba could see a set of clothes nicely folded along the water's edge.

Cheerfully filling the air with chirping lullabies was a small bluebird that hopped around the pile of cloth, then to the rocks, then suddenly flew it's way to Simba's boots. He heard the faint scraping of his small feet on the metal toes of his feet, and he smiled at it's innocent head movements as the small thing looked up at him, jumping quickly from Simba's shoes to the dirt with glee.

With a small heave, Simba bend down to take the bird on his finger, surprised at how naive and docile the small thing was. In the castle courtyard, the birds always ran from him, no matter the food he left out, or how slowly he tried to approach. His father would have never approved of such gentle nature especially after his mother passed, so he only did it with the royal slave, Kurona, who gave him tips to try to catch the animal's attention, but they never worked. He stopped trying a few years ago. It delighted him that the bird now looked at him with big shiny eyes, so close he could see his own reflection in them.

The bird suddenly jumped from his finger to across the crystal clear water, landing at the base of the waterfall next to the clothes again. It was then that Simba noticed the vague silhouette of a body behind the falling wall of water, waist deep, and moving slowly as she washed her body. He watched as her rosy complexion slowly shimmered against the blue waves, obscured to nothing but a blurry shape. Her body looked shapely, yet undefined by the rippling water, but he didn't really care about that. She was just a pawn in his power game, but she didn't deserve to be scared or frightened in her own home. They were going to be married for the rest of their lives. Simba didn't have any use in treating her poorly.

"Hello?" he bellowed softly over the waterfall, trying to sound as comforting and friendly as possible. He saw the rosy image in the waterfall stop in a chilling and panicked way. Suddenly the roar of the waterfall was nothing against the piercing tension his presence created. He realized he may not have sounded as friendly as he imagined.   
Woopsy.

Cringing at his own mistake, he stammered his way through a new attempt to charm her in such a delicate state.

"Are you the Princess who lives here?" he asked between unsteady words, now competing with being drowned out by the roar of the falls. He slowly walked upon the rocks that outlined the pool, inching closer to the falls. He felt his face get warm waiting for her to respond, but her silhouette just stayed solid behind the crystal veil.

"I'm here to save you." He continued to tread carefully as his shoes tapped against more stones. He walked closer to the bird who sat so calmly on top of the pile of linens, watching his every move with curious eyes. "It's my mission to take you away from here."

The forest still held the tension that lingered between the colors in the mist, and as long as there was no response, it would remain that way. The warming sky overhead was an excellent foil to the chilling mist that tickled his skin. He sat next to the clothes just out of the sight line of the space beyond the water in respect to her privacy. The bird didn't seem bothered by his seat, hopping onto his lap and singing a song that rang through the roaring falls. Simba smiled as the small thing found a comfortable fold in his knee to settle down in, and continued chirping his peaceful melody. The mist from the falls tickled his skin in chilly droplets and drifted in the air around him. It reminded him he had to stay focused with each and every dew drop that traced his skin.

"He sounds like he likes you." she trembled softly from behind the waterfall. Simba barely was able to make it out, but she seemed apprehensive still. The tension was finally lifted enough for him to hear her voice and that was all he needed to work with. He chuckled softly, watching the small blue creature ruffle its feathers playfully.

"I like him too. He's such a gentle thing. What are two gentle things doing so far in the middle of nowhere?"

There was a small silence before she spoke again, just as quietly as she had before.

"I've always been here. It's where I belong." She seemed to trail off in a somber tone that sent a small wave of pain to touch his chest. There was an obligation to her words as if she had to stay, yet nothing kept her here. There was no fence, there was no barricade keeping her from the plains, from the towns that lie beyond in his family's land. It made no sense. Her tone was disconnected to the reality of her situation. He decided to push forward.

"This place is beautiful, filled with light. I can see why you stayed here with your friend." The bird, as if cognizant of his mention, burst up onto his shoulder, playing with the tassels that hung from the buttons holding his cape in place.

"You really think this place is beautiful?" she asked, a sense of surprise lingered in her voice.

"Of course! And it helps you have this guy here to give you company." The bird chirped again, and then perched himself on Simba's tiara. He quite enjoyed the bird's sporadic yet friendly movements. Simba listened as a small giggle escaped her, still muffled from the sound of the water she hid behind.

"I've never thought of this place as beautiful before," she said. Simba noticed more comfort in her disposition.

"So why do you stay?" he asked gently, realizing a pivot point in the conversation to extract the information he needed. There was a pause, but the awkward tension was gone. The air was warm now between them; the mist now a refreshing sensation instead of a cold reminder of his mission. The bird jumped down from his head and bobbed from the rocks to the clothes. It suddenly hit Simba that she was completely naked and she probably felt vulnerable talking to a strange man about her inner thoughts. His literal wing man was a life saver.

"...Or you don't have to answer that until you have your clothes on. Deal?" He pushed her clothes to the end of the rocks within arms reach of the edge, and then turned his back to the falls, feeling the mist hit the back of his neck.

"Deal," she said. He heard the drops from her body hit the stones below. Simba couldn't wait to come face to face with his future bride.


	6. Birds Fear Lions (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hari and Simba meet under strange circumstances. Hari lies about his identity to keep Simba talking due to his lonliness, but they are interrupted and the truth is revealed

Hari put on his clothes, awkwardly reminded of the man that sat before him as he wrapped his arms into the sleeves and feeling his pants snap around his waist. Hari took a moment to look at the boy who sat with his back to him. The first thing Hari noticed was that he wore a crown; a stunningly crafted piece of jewelry that shone in golden flashes.

The small details of its engravings were shown in great detail in the mass of his dark locks. Its glimmer gave him a start of an unjustified nostalgia- he noticed the jewels were the same colors of red, yellow, and white of the flowers that used to grow when he first arrived in the forest. He didn't know why he was drawn to this intruder, but that didn't stop him from taking a step forward.

The man's ears poked from the side of his head, dark and round, and as his eye ran down his neck, he found a red formal shirt with a white cape that flowed from his neck just over the golden plates and tassels that cupped on top of his broad shoulders. There was a pattern on his cape that was hidden from the wrinkles in its folded state on the ground. The thought of dirt against this white, beautiful fabric made Hari concerned whether he would need to reimburse him for ruined garments. He had almost literally nothing in his ownership, so it made his mind race in panic. The mysterious boy's white elbow length gloves wrapped around his whole arm, and his boots did the same at the knees over dark pants, truly the garments of a man who had the world at his fingertips, a man who promised to take him away from here.

This boy clearly knew Hari was here, but he seemed too charming and important to be here for no reason. His apprehension was only kept in check from the bird who now bobbed about as carefree as always on the perch of his hand, chirping a lullaby as they both waited for him to dress. He knew the boy was being particularly gentle and nurturing by the way he naively sat waiting, playing with a bird as he did so. He was very charming and innocent, Hari admitted. But it was a charm and an act that demanded so obviously a search for something he needed that Hari supposedly had. 

Of course he couldn't imagine what use he could be to him, but he was alluring nonetheless- maybe it was the fact he hadn't seen another person since Nanny vanished. She would have disapproved of Hari talking to this boy, and he knew why. Hari, unused to company, let alone that of an important man, decided to continue carefully in case the bird's judgement of good character was misplaced.

He was about to tell him that he was clear to turn around, but Simba spoke first.

"Are you ready, Princess? I would love to properly meet you."

He let out a little chuckle as the bird jumped from his hand back to his head, and looked back at Hari in anticipation. 

_Princess._

The word rang about in his head. This boy thought he was a woman, and his whole purpose was to rescue him from the forest. Of course Hari knew there was no princess here, and the likelihood of there ever being one was low enough to be a laughable suggestion, so he likely has the wrong place. But he would be done with him if he knew the truth, so he wouldn't tell him. He just had to keep him facing the way he was.

"Before we meet, I need to know who you are and why you're here." Hari said shakily, unsure of a better excuse to keep him turned. "You trespass here into my home and I want to know why."

He tried to sound feminine while out of the immediate mask of the waterfall, but it truthfully sounded like he had never spoke before in his life while trying to maintain a certain pitch. His cheeks turned red. He knew he sounded so stupid. 

"You have fair demands," the boy said in a strong yet gentle voice. There was an accent in his speech, but he couldn't place it other than the fact it was insatiably smooth escaping his lips.

"To make sure there is no peeking, keeping our backs to each other seems fair too." He patted the ground behind him as a gesture to join him. The bird sang. Hari, cautious of turning his back to a complete stranger, inched forward until he lowered to the ground and felt his back rest against his. The boy then tilted his head back to gently rest against his own. Hari paused, scared of touching his skin, but realized their hair blocked direct skin contact. He leaned into him. He felt warm.

The boy had a steady voice that was soft still that Hari couldn't help but admire.

"My name is Simba Adofo, Prince of Sanitatem." The forest shook with his booming words, roaring proud and fierce from where he sat, yet the bird still sat peacefully at the crest of his head.

"I came here to take you away from this place, and bring you home to my father to make you the Queen of the kingdom. I know that seems like a lot, but in my family's tradition, it is customary to take up a bride of our King's choice before the crown is transferred over. He requested you."

"Why would he request me?"

"He chose you because he thought I needed to prove my worth to my kingdom. If I succeeded in rescuing you, I could then be given the throne. And by how much this little guy likes you, I'm sure my father has good taste."

Darwin jumped from shoulder to shoulder, waiting for Hari to reply.

"His name is Darwin," Hari said smiling.

"Well I like him. And I like you. May I escort you to your new home?"

"I am not in need of rescuing. Nothing has happened here for years."

"If nothing has happened here, why do you stay?"

Hari looked up to the sky through the leaves of the trees, not sure how to answer such a question. The pegs, the forest, the daily routine meant nothing to anyone but him. How was he going to communicate such an invalid imprisonment to someone like Simba without incriminating himself? Hari hadn't a clue.

"Fair is fair," Simba prodded. "I told you why I'm here, I would love to know the same for you. Its bound to be far more interesting."

Hari took in a deep breath. The bird scampered over his shoulder and gave a supportive bob.

"I.. I'm-"

"Simba look out!" 

From the side of the forest came clanking of metaled suits, flashing glimmering swords and crests that bared the resemblance of a golden lion on a field of red, with two crossed spears behind it. "He's cursed!"

Hari got up in a panic, seeing units of silver close in around him. He backed away from Simba, watching him rise from the place he sat slowly, the river of white flowing from his shoulders unfolding out of its jumbled pile of cloth into a smooth curtain that outlined the strong stature Simba hid under his slouched position. As he rose and the cape dangled clear without obstruction, he could see a red lion on a field of white showcasing valiantly and boastfully the same crest as the soldiers that now collected to his side as a united front in Hari's direction.

" _He?"_

Simba asked slowly under his breath, barely heard over the roaring falls, piercingly loud now in this terrifying silence. The charming softness of his accent turned vicious and Hari recalled the image of the forest as a graveyard. He always knew he would be it's final victim.

Simba turned to face Hari. The Prince was radiant with rich skin, with dark and bold eyebrows that hung low over his eyes that glowed like fire, angry and wild. His face was broad, a jawline as fierce as his face. His lips curled into a snarl, bringing to life the beast on his back with a ferocious growl, claws out and ready to shred.

Darwin was gone now. He must have feared the lion. Hari should have listened to Nanna. Instead, he was forced to the ground, limbs bound together, and a sac placed over his head paired with a rope tied around his neck, coarse and dry against his skin.

"It was disgusting. It came so close to touching me" Hari heard Simba scowl through the darkness. "Tie it up. We will dispose of it so it can't fool anyone else."

Hari heard footsteps fade slowly.

"I shouldn't have let it play with me. Those gloves are all the proof I need to have it's head on a stake"

Hari was left in silence and blackness on the ground. The faint clanking of the metaled generals were the only indication he was being surveyed and that was enough to keep him on the ground. Motionless with tears staining the big fiber sac, he stayed still waiting for the inevitable. He should have known better than to trust the Prince. The bird clearly had poor judgement to behave so vulnerable to a lion who has no business affiliating himself with such a lowlife. He sat waiting for who-knows-what to happen to him, but it wasn't an account of so much of what, but when.

"The King was right about the boy." said one of the generals, accompanied by metal sounds as he moved slightly. "Hes exactly where he said he would be."

"Now we just need to convince Simba to save his execution for the city. That's the only way we can get him back to his father in one piece." There was a brief, deep chuckle from him.

Hari didn't understand what they were talking about, nor did he really care. He just sat there until the footsteps returned.

"Let's get this over with so we can return to the castle and tell my father of his mistake." Simba's voice growled, still low with anger. "I can't believe I wasted all this time coming here, doing this mission to execute a cursed freak," he rambled. "We have these at home. I could have just took one from prison and did this at the castle. My father better have a second marriage option or I'm taking his crown myself."

There was a sound of a sword exiting it's sheath. "Place his neck on the fireplace ledge so I have a clear swing. We will bring his head back as a token of the mission's success." Hari felt a wall of tears as they filled his eyes, but he didn't know whether he was sad or overjoyed. No more forest. No more pegs. No more tower. His routine would end, but he rued the way he would leave; at the hands of someone who hated his guts.

"But the King stated returning home empty handed is not an option if you want to succeed him." said one of the generals, almost too quickly. Hari noticed it was stale and hollow of authenticity. It was a practiced sentence. That detail brought Hari out of his crying enough to pay attention to the conversation. Even with limited human interaction, he lied enough to Nanna when he was younger about the journal and various other deviations from his routine. He knew what falsehoods sounded like.

"Won't the head do? Its enough to show it was far from a Princess."

"A live specimen may be more of a reciprocation of the mission," the soldier spoke again too quickly.

"Then what do you suppose we do with it?" Simba insisted, annoyance on the verge of his voice. "We can have it roaming around spreading it's illness."

"We should return to the castle with it and have a public execution," said the other, more convincing than his counterpart. "Your devotion to your father's cleansing will surely name you King of Sanitatem."

There was a pause, briefly followed by the sound of steel scraping as he put away his sword.

"Fine. Keep it tied up and put it in the carriage. That carriage was made for a worthy presence, but it's all we have. We will just burn it afterwards. What a waste of money. And make sure not to touch it's skin. I would hate to put down a trusted squad because of a _mistake_."

Hari was violently brought to his feet, and guided down the path he could almost envision through the sac over his eyes from traveling it everyday. He was hoisted aggressively into the wagon, surprisingly soft and comfortable. He scooted himself to the corner like a scared and injured animal, which he might have well been, and heard the wagon door slam shut. Outside, he heard the faint preparations of the squadron under his heavy breathing. 

He was going to die from a different source of his imaging. The forest was his projected grim reaper, but instead this "Simba", a previously unknown man, would be taking the breath from his lungs. Simba seemed like such a docile man away from his comrades and his castle. He genuinely seems to enjoy the forest. Too bad that delight didn't carry on towards Hari. 

Hari suddenly wished he was the Princess Simba sought. Living a lavish life in a castle with a prince seemed far better than dying at his hands. He could imagine their wedding; soft formal clothes against colorful roses bound around an arch they would say their vows under. A man and a woman, living their days caring for their sole heir child, watching them take their first steps, hearing their first words, growing old and passing the kingdom on with a warm smile and tear of pride. What a life a Prince would lead. Simple and safe.

His daydream ended as a hand suddenly ripped the sac from his face violently, the harsh fabric stinging his skin as it filed off his head in a quick snap of a wrist. Hari's surprise was mostly due to the fact that he thought he was alone in the wagon. Once his eyes adjusted to the wagon's light, he saw Simba sitting before him with dark brows furrowed over angry eyes. Hari recoiled against the wall, slinking as far from his future executioner as possible. Simba looked amused from his fear.

"It doesn't matter what happens now. You have nowhere to go." His voice was low and eerie. Hari stared at him, face frozen in an anxious tension. "I enjoyed our little chat. Too bad we got cut short before you could tell me anything useful."

Despite the dark shadows of the wagon oozing over his face, Hari could still see a spark of warmth in his eyes. It was distracting to his otherwise terrifying demeanor.

"Maybe if you spill the information I need, we will feed you a nice meal before we use your head as a spike warmer."

Hari paused, his panicked heaving against the thick air was too much to handle alone.

"Maybe you need some... _motivation?"_

A crooked smile broke over his face as the gleam of a small dagger flashed as it was placed at his throat. "I don't care if my father doesn't have your whole body. Your head will do just fine in my books."

The blade's edge was cold, as if he could feel the icy finger of death itself. Hari felt a bead of sweat fall down the side of his head.

"What do you need to know?" Hari whimpered.


	7. Birds Fear Lions (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Simba forces Hari to give him useful information, Simba realizes the danger he is in and must take action.

"Who sent you here?" Simba barked.

"I was brought here by my Nanna when I was little. I don't remember where I was before that," Hari rasped softly.

"Why did she send you here?"

"She told me I had to stay inside the magical pegs so I don't interact with others to spread my affliction."

"Wise woman. Where is she now? Is she a Witch?"

"She used magic, but only on the pegs. She never returned one day when she left for supplies. I assumed she was killed and buried her belongings on the outskirts of the forest."

There was a pause that confused Hari. The warmth in Simba's eyes flickered for a moment before disappearing.

"If shes gone, why didn't you leave?"

"I can't. It's my purpose to the world to stay hidden. Once I leave, the curse will spread. Once I leave the forest, the magic barrier that contains my illness is broken"

"So there was never a Princess here. This was all a mistake and a waste of time."

He stated the last question as a remark, sounding exhausted.

"Yes. This tower was vacant when I arrived. It took a long time to rebuild it."

He took the knife from Hari's throat, and he sat back against the opposite wall, letting his shoulders fall back, and the tension disappeared from his body as he leaned his head against the old wood.

"One last question: why did you pretend to be the Princess? You knew it would lead nowhere, and you could have taken advantage of my vulnerability. Instead you just talked. What sick game were you playing? Why were you leading me to believe my mission was meaningful?"

Hari looked at Simba, slumped in defeat before him.

"I... haven't talked to anyone in years. It was nice to hear your voice and know that someone else was out there."

"Don't lie, you piece of shit," he growled. "I know what you were doing. You wanted to infect me, keep me as your prisoner knowing I could never return home as a Carrier."

"I had lots of time to infect you. But I didn't."

Hari noticed that Simba's eyes softened at his remarks. Despite looking confused, they sparkled with the same sense he got from his voice in the pond. It was a duality he felt uneasy with. The idea of a scary lion turning into a gentle cub was hard to anticipate and predict. Hari tightened his gloves as much as he could through the binds his wrists were in as Simba sat in silence.

Simba knew Hari was right. He could feel it in his voice, soft and naive. He really hasn't spoken to a human being for as long as he said. He felt a small sense of pity for this man who was trapped alone for so long, maybe too much for such a disgrace to his kingdom. Simba wondered what divine prank would have led him here to this pathetic little monster in a forest.

"By the way, your troop needs me in one piece for your dad. It's not in your best interest to kill me until you get home."

Simba glared at Hari with eyes filled with a spark of realization. To what the realization was Hari hadn't a clue, but he was glad Simba's eyes were filled with that small light he came to find comforting rather than the anger he feared.

"What did they say exactly?" he said, crawling closer to him.

"They said I was exactly where your father said I would be, and now they have to convince you to get me to your castle in one piece." Hari, still scared of Simba, was happy when his eyes softened- he assumed he did what he was supposed to, maybe enough for him to spare his life for a few more days. Simba nodded in reciprocation to Hari's recounting of his squadron. Meanwhile, Simba knew what had to happen now. He smirked slightly as a joke ran his mind. Perhaps it was _he_ who was saved by the "Princess".

They sat in silence as the carriage swayed back and forth against the ground. Hari noticed the luxurious detailing and comfort this carriage had. He could tell Simba wasn't lying about his mission, but he also saw a spark of sadness in the Prince's eyes. Hari had has the same defeated look in his eyes for years now, and could recognize it on Simba's face even if he were a mile away. Hari felt bad he wasted Simba's time. He wanted to apologize, but when he opened his mouth to speak, nothing came out.

They heard the hooves clicking against rocky patches in the trail, and watched as the honey light that oozed through the windows slowly faded to silver as the moon replaced the sun in the sky overhead. It must have been hours. Hari had fallen asleep, nestled in the corner he backed himself in as Simba watched diligently at his captive. The wagon came to a halt, and Hari's eyes fluttered open as the metaled guards opened the door to retrieve him, throwing him onto the dirt of a makeshift campground surrounded by trees, just on the edge of an open clearing.

The moon shone through the tree leaves, the cool air juxtaposed with the warm flicker of a small fire in which the group placed their swords, bits of armor, and supplies around. The silhouette of horses within the trees nearby weaved nicely with the subtle movements of the flickering foliage and fire against the otherwise still night. The metaled ally of Simba, still clad in his metal attire, tied Hari to a nearby trunk of a tree by his hands so he couldn't infect them despite his being fully gloved and still bound together. He found being bound this way unnecessary, but he was afflicted after all. It was in their best interests to assure he wasn't a problem.

The fire crackled in the night, smoke swirling towards the sky. Hari leaned up against the tree. The bark was cold and brittle, but he found it preferable than laying on the prickly dry grass he currently sat on. He listened to the campfire chat of Simba and his crew, only vaguely following what they were discussing. He found it best to dissociate from what was going on around him. All he had the motivation for was being dragged down to the tree's trunk by the weight of the reality that he found himself in. It would all be over soon anyway. He slowly drifted to sleep hoping less time awake would make his last few hours go faster. He originally wanted more time to experience life, but he now surrendered to the truth that he was just dragging this out and inconveniencing everyone. When he was gone, the world would be better off.

Simba sat at the edge of the campfire as his troops, unarmored and mostly unclothed under their thin makeshift bedding, slept the night away. He insisted on taking first watch for the night. He looked over at a slumped over Hari as he slept quiet and defenceless.

Quietly unsheathing his sword from his hip, Simba walked past the embers that remained in the fire pit was now nothing but hot ash. He traversed his way to the beast that lied to him and tried to infect him with his disease that would have cast him from his only ambition. It was time to get rid of him.

Gloves equipped, he knelt next to him, blade pointed at his throat. Simba took a deep breath in. It was time to do what he knew he needed to.

Hari awoke in a start to a gloved hand to his mouth, and a blade pointed to his throat. He made a shocked grunting sound until Simba abruptly and sternly shushed him into silence, a spark of urgency in his eyes, brows furrowed adamantly. Hari obliged, being as quiet and still as he could. When Hari was calm, Simba gently removed his gloved hand from his mouth, and pointed the sword away from him. Hari, mystified by Simba's bashfulness and sense of mission, just stared blankly at the lion's intense fixation in his direction. Carefully, Simba used the tip of his sword to cut the rope around his hands. To see such a strong guy cut something so gracefully and gently made Hari inspect his hands for nicks or scratches expecting to see where he may have slipped his hand, but found nothing but unscathed skin and gloves.

"Get out of here before I change my mind," Simba said, low and harsh. But it was outshone by the warmth in his eyes again.

"Wh-" Hari stammered before Simba raised his sword in a white flash, stopping inches before his face.

"I don't want to see your face again. Leave. _Now_."

Without a second hesitation, Hari quickly scrambled to his feet and turned into the forest. He fled the campground behind him in a confused yet relieved sense of mind that left him short of breath as he pushed the trees around him aside. Hiding behind a tree, he stopped to catch his breath. He didn't know what that was about, but he knew he needed to get away from those metaled men, away from the sword, and away from Simba.

He heard a cry in the night, sounding in pain and surprise. Hari froze in fear, hearing another yelp in the cold air that bounced off the trees from the campsite he just fled. Then nothing. He stood in fear with his back against the rough bark, unable to move. He didn't understand what was happening. Why was he let free? Who was being attacked? By who?

Before he knew it, he was walking slowly back to the campsite. He didn't seem in control of himself. His mind and body were dislocated, not listening to one another as logic screamed to run in the other direction. As he neared closer, he heard grunts of a struggle, and metal scraping against metal. He was fascinated yet scared of this Simba character and his wild and chaotic nature. One minute he was warm and dare he say kind, and the next he was a vicious ruler ready to shred prey apart. Of course Hari, previously isolated, had no reference for proper behavior or compassion. Even Simba seemed like a desired point of human interaction with his sporadic anger. Hari's desperation led him to the edge of the campsite, concealed by a low hanging tree branch that lined the space they set up for the night.

In the silver light, the grass glistened red next to a dark mass on the ground, slumped under a blanket set up for him to sleep in. His sword lay beside him with his armor. He didn't recognize the slaughtered soldier. Two more bodies could be seen glimmering eerily in the moonlight as flashes of metal persisted between two foes. The horses made alarm sounds nearby as the metal scraped and clashed, and Hari could see Simba fighting against his general. The glimmer of his crown gave away his dark silhouette, and the height of the general was identifiable even in the cast of night. Hari wasn't sure why they were fighting, but he knew Simba attacked the others in his squadron by the wet sparkle of blood on his beautiful garments. Hari watched in horror as the battle continued, the lion facing off against the looming giant Hari could remember as "Nathair" from their late night campfire conversations he overheard.

"You shouldn't have done that, boy!" heaved the giant, violently slashing his sword against Simba's who was struggling to keep his heavy blows from slicing him to bits. "Your father is the only ruler who understands the land and everything in it!"

"You shouldn't have let me near the cursed one," Simba heaved as he defended himself against harsh swings of Nathair's sword. "Do you think I'm a fool? A cursed good-for-nothing wretch ended up being a more loyal man than you."

With that, the general landed an angry swing that sent Simba tumbling backwards, sword flying into the air in a white flash and landing in the dirt far beyond Simba's reach, the blade digging into the earth and handle glimmering like a beacon.

"That's gives me a better story to share than the one I was planning on telling the King. A traitor to his kind, siding with a disgusting beast to take down the healthy would spread like wildfire. I'm glad your last words served you a disservice. Goodbye, _my Prince_."

Hari saw Nathair's sword rise overhead as he prepared to swing down. Without thinking, Hari burst from his concealed spectating seat and plucked Simba's sword from the ground in which it entered the earth. He ran up behind the giant, unarmored, and with his flashing blade thrust the tip through his back. It was a piercing grunt that escaped the dark shadow before he slowly slumped to the ground, breathless and still with the wet sword sticking from where it was plunged.

Before Hari could process that he killed a man to save his previous captor, he was flung against a tree by a hand that grasped around his throat tight enough to make it hard to breath but loose enough to keep him alive. Simba's angry eyes, wild and frustrated, glared at him through his messy dark locks that hung over his face.

"Why did you come back?" Simba screamed, unable to retain even an ounce of control over his voice. "Why did you save me? I told you I never wanted to see you again!"

Simba's voice rumbled from his lungs. Hari sat in silence, unsure of how to answer around his fear and confusion in what was happening.

"Answer me!" Simba screamed, flashing his teeth in anger, wrinkles forming in almost all parts of his face as he contorted in an irrational rage.

"I..I just came back," Hari frantically explained. "My legs moved without me realizing it after I heard people being hurt."

"We are not _friends_! You are not a _Princess_!" The grasp on Hari's throat got tighter as Simba fell further into his vicious anger. "You are nothing but my possession. I will own everything in this land. I ordered you to get out of my fucking face!"

"Why? Why didn't you just kill me? Why did you let me go? I don't understand!" Hari started to scratch at the grip on his neck, his face started turning red, but all he felt were thick gloves under his nails.

"Because a fucking piece of shit saved my life. And then you did it again! A King saved by a miserable cursed liar! How pathetic!"

Simba let go of Hari's throat, and let him fall to the floor at his feet, gasping for air.

"W...what?" Hari asked, muffled by his empty lungs.

"Without your squealing, I would have died at the hands of my own men. You did me a favor. I hate your kind. You despicable snakes have ruined my land, and killed my mother. But even I can't kill an animal who saved my life, even if it didn't know what you did. I repaid you by letting you go."

Hari stared up at the man who looked down on him in digust, and found tears forming at the rim of Simba's eyes.

"And now, you come and save me again. A future King, in the debt of the lowest slug in the land. My family is noble and true, and have always repaid their debts. I can't let that integrity die because of a disease that has already taken so much from me."

A tied bag and a small dagger was tossed before Hari. The bag made the sound of many coins clinking together when it hit the dirt.

"This is a small fortune, and a weapon to defend yourself. Take one of the horses. Go home to your forest so I never have to see you again. I will tell the King the forest was empty and he made a mistake so you will never be bothered again. Consider my debt paid. Now get out of my sight."

Hari grabbed the dagger and the bag and slowly backed away to the horses as Simba glared in a furious stillness. Even Hari knew better than to tease a wounded lion. He mounted the horse as elegantly as someone who had never ridden a horse before could, and looked from atop his new steed down on the teary eyed man who will eventually rule over the land he stood on.

The anger had taken over Simba's body and his mind. Hari could see just how much the man hated him by the pain a nicety inflicted on him. Hari looked down at the boy who had sat with him so gently at the waterfall under the air filled with color. That warm glimmer could still be seen even though his rage and tears.

Hari should have feared the lion, but instead he found a person who let him free when no one else, including himself, would. As foolish at Hari knew it to be, after surviving the attack of a lion, he wanted back in the lion's den for reasons that felt wrong and twisted. Maybe he just didn't want to be alone again.

"By the way, my name is Hari Kian," he said before he beckoned the horse to ride off into the night away from the bodies, away from the sword, and away from Simba.


End file.
